The Third Date Rule
by MetaphoricallySane
Summary: 'BBC Sherlock' Johnlock and Mystrade and Mormor romantic slash. Everybody knows the third date rule; except Sherlock. Can John teach Sherlock to be sentimental?


**The Third Date Rule**

Johnlock, Mystrade, Mormor

(BBC Sherlock)

Date #1

"Sherlock, we are going out tonight and that's final!"

Scowling, Sherlock pulled on his coat and stepped towards the door, John glaring at him as a way of ordering his wishes that they go on an actual date.

"What's your big problem with this?" he asked, more angry than curious. Was Sherlock ashamed? Or just stubborn, as usual? He'd probably have preferred to sit at home telling John that night's plot to 'Glee'. Even though John didn't watch 'Glee' anyway… (Or so he claimed. Sherlock had caught him singing 'Don't Stop Believing' in the shower on numerous occasions.)

"John, you understand my lack of interest in sentimentality. We are already a couple in all senses of the word – emotionally, physically – so what is the point of going through typical protocol just to make it "official"? Everyone knows. Everyone always knew, John. And that's why I see this as a pointless excessive." John's eyes widened, tears swelling up and Sherlock seemed to get thinner as his eyes drooped a little as if to apologise. "But, I, uh, do understand your perspective. If this is something you wish to do-"

"It is."

"-then we shall do it."

John smirked. "We already have on several occasions."

Sherlock blushed slightly. "Let's just go, or we won't be leaving at all."

Sherlock clambered into the cab, struggling to ignore as John gripped his arse, and shuffled across onto the next seat to let John in. As the car pulled away from the curb and set off, Sherlock realised John had never told him what they would actually be doing that night. It made him a little nervous to think what John might have planned for them.

He let his imagination wander. Perhaps it would be good to have a surprise for once. He even shut his eyes so as to try not to deduce everything from John's body language, but even still there were hints – he could hear John shuffling, signifying excitement or nerves, and he could catch the scent of his tangy aftershave; not cheap aftershave, but rather fancy, special, an indication to the social standing of wherever they were going.

The cab pulled up and Sherlock opened his eyes, narrowed them, rubbed them. Angelo's. Something was up. He glanced to John in confusion, but knew from John's smile that it was something with sentimentality – and hence he had no chance in understanding it.

In fact, he was still trying to get his head around it when Angelo (grinning knowingly with a sickly smugness) brought them a single pizza. And, of course, a candle.

"So, you finally accepted that you're his date," he joked, seeming all too pleased with himself.

"Actually, he's mine," John replied proudly, and Sherlock couldn't help but smile wanly. Angelo raised his eyebrows. "And yes, like that too."

Sherlock tried not to make a sound as John squeezed his leg tenderly. His mind raced, as he grinned over at John with narrowed eyes. Oh, he understood.

As they began to eat – Sherlock picking with disdain but enjoying the margarita anyway – John began to chat openly.

"You know why we're here, right?" he asked.

Sherlock shrugged slightly. He grasped the concept but didn't really feel it. "Welcome to London," he uttered with a gentle beam.

"That first chase…" John chuckled at the memory. Then he scoffed. "And you almost took that damn pill."

"I was curious."

"You're still curious."

Sherlock guessed that John was no longer talking about the pill.

"Sentimentality?" Sherlock confirmed.

"Of course," John replied, watching the candle flicker. "I need to teach you what romance is."

"If you're trying to make me fall in love with you, I already am."

Sherlock followed his heart and took John's hand across the table. John blushed a little, letting the clueless consulting detective know he'd made the right move. They gazed into each other's eyes, glowing with the soft light, feeling like they'd known one another forever, like they were soulmates. Before either of them could realise they were a hair apart, lips whispering over one another's, and-

"Hello, brother."

Sherlock breathed in annoyance and turned around. "What are you doing here?" he hissed, and then realised that he was showing emotion. Mycroft wouldn't appreciate that. Mycroft would judge him, and once again he'd be the stupid little brother who had a heart.

"I'm on a date," Mycroft replied. Sherlock just blinked a few times. "Surprised?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "With whom?"

Surprised didn't even begin to cover it as detective inspector Lestrade walked in, smiled at Mycroft, then startled at Sherlock and John. "I… uh… Sherlock… John…" he stammered, looking to Mycroft for confirmation.

"It's alright, Greg. It appears we have just created an unplanned double date."

John wanted to object. This was his and Sherlock's special restaurant, why were they even here? Of course, John had known about Mycroft and Lestrade for some time. He actually listened to the other detectives talking at the crime scenes. Added to the fact he had seen a picture of Greg and the other Holmes brother in a frame last time Mycroft had decided to abduct him, John had thought it funny but they were well suited for one another.

Cramped round the small table soon enough another pizza was given to them, with another odd smirk from Angelo. Sherlock was deeply uncomfortable, and was quick to eat the rest of his and John's pizza and declare they were leaving. John had to agree, and soon they were back in the cab.

"Did you know?" Sherlock asked, still rather baffled by the idea of them being a couple.

"Yeah," John replied. "Problem?"

"Problem? He's my brother, and he's… an idiot…"

"But isn't everyone an idiot to you?"

"You aren't."

Back at 221B the two stumbled up to bed. At his door, Sherlock raised his eyebrows and took hold of John's waist, pulling him closer until their hips were together.

"Ah-ah-ah," John shushed, putting a hand to Sherlock's cheek. "It's only our first date."

Sherlock frowned. "But we've had sex countless times before."

John giggled. "That's not the point. Good night, Sherlock."

He stood on tip-toes to kiss Sherlock briefly on the cheek before stepping away and into his bedroom, leaving Sherlock confused but intrigued before he turned and crawled into bed, feeling warmth spread through his heart, like he was learning something. Like he was learning how to love.

Date #2

"Come on, John!" he called the next evening, striding into the living room where John was watching TV.

"A case?" John asked wearily.

"A date," Sherlock proclaimed. "I have been doing some research and I think I understand what is expected and what is correct for a dating couple."

John smiled. Although it sounded dorky, it was Sherlock, and that was just him. "Alright. Where are we going?"

"Bowling!"

The alley was teeming with teenagers and children, leaving Sherlock feeling more than a little awkward in his suit. John was wearing casual clothes, which for him consisted of jeans and a cardigan rather than a jumper. He confidently booked them a lane and quickly handed over his shoes. He had expected Sherlock to do the same.

"Why did you give that acne-ridden teen your shoes? Is he homeless?" Sherlock questioned, rudely.

"No, Sherlock, you need bowling shoes," John explained, hushed so as not to offend anyone further.

"I thought we bowled balls?"

John snickered a little. "Yeah, but you can't wear normal shoes."

"Why not?"

John paused. "I don't really know… It's just the way it is."

Sherlock slowly took off his shoes and placed them on the counter. "What size?" the acne-ridden teen asked sourly.

"Uhh… 7," Sherlock supplied, completely bemused by this ritual. The teen took his shoes and Sherlock watched them suspiciously as they were put into a cubby and a pair of tattered red-white-and-blue clown shoes was brought out and dumped in front of him. He looked to John for confirmation before putting them on, and scowling at them with distaste.

Once out to the alley John instantly began setting up, typing their names into the machine and bringing up the 'sides'. Sherlock at once objected, but John kept them up anyway. When John went to use the bathroom Sherlock changed the names and put the bumpers down. He laughed loudly when John returned to find he had no bumpers and his name had been set to 'Sexwithjam'.

About 10 minutes into the game and Sherlock was losing miserably while John honestly tried his best. Sherlock complained that the ball he was using was biased, and even went to tell the acne-ridden teen that the game was unfair. The teen was not amused. The lane next to them had been empty up until now and the pair had been lazing around in the extra seats, but then the next people turned up and they had to scoot back to their lane. They didn't pay them much attention until one man lit up a cigarette.

"Uh, excuse me, I don't think you're allowed to smoke in here..?" John told them quietly. The man looked up. He had blonde-brown hair that was ruffled, and spiky stubble to match. He dressed like he was in the army – dirt and all.

Suddenly the other man turned around and Sherlock instantly stood in front of John.

"Moriarty," he grumbled.

"Ohey, Sherly! Johnny!" Jim greeted, casually walking over, bowling ball in hand. "Well, isn't this ironic…"

"What is this all about?" Sherlock demanded.

"Whoa, whoa, chill out!" he defended. "We're just here on a little date… as I guess you are as well! Oh, Seb, look at them; don't they look cute together?"

Seb smiled widely, revealing his stained teeth. John grimaced.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" he asked, a little uneasy.

"Sebastian Moran," Seb answered, taking a puff on his cigarette. "I'm the sniper."

John stepped back a little, holding on to Sherlock's shoulders as he realised that Seb was the red dot that had been aimed at him and his partner not too long ago.

"Relax!" Jim told them. "We're not here to cause a scene. I promise you."

"Why don't I believe that?" Sherlock scoffed.

"Because you're paranoid and protective of your little darling," Jim answered, beaming. "Really, I would be exactly the same towards Seb if I thought you were a threat."

Seb chuckled to himself, then stood up to bowl a strike with utmost ease.

"Nice!" Moriarty praised, giving his partner a high-five. John thought he might pass out. The situation was just too weird. "Aww, Johnny, you don't look too well. Perhaps you two should go home. To bed." He winked.

"We were just leaving," Sherlock grumbled, taking John's hand and tugging him away. At the desk he stopped and glared back, looking away quickly again when he realised Seb and Moriarty were holding hands. "I'm so sorry about that, John…"

"Hey, it's not your fault," John forgave, pulling off his shoes and handing them back over. Sherlock watched closely to make sure John got his shoes back. He did. "You weren't to know they'd be here. Speaking of which, why the hell are they here?"

"For once, dear Watson, I don't have a clue," Sherlock joked, demanding his shoes back with a glare. "I guess everyone's just lucky at the moment."

"No one as lucky as me," John told him, taking his hand again as they walked out.

They fell asleep against each other in the cab, and hardly managed to make it into the apartment. Tonight they slept in the same bed, curled up in each other's arms.

Date #3

Going to the cinema was a risk but Sherlock had promised not to tell John the ending before the film even started, so they settled down in their seats and waited for the lights to go down. The cinema had seemed pretty empty when they came in, but now as they talked they realised it was completely empty besides them. It allowed them to relax, slipping into the seats deeper and leaning on one another as the adverts began to start.

It just so happened that Sherlock had never seen any of the Indiana Jones films, and since the local cinema was re-screening 'Raiders of the Lost Ark' John had decided that Sherlock needed to see it.

He was fascinated. It was obvious – the traps, the way things would work out – but for some reason Sherlock enjoyed that. He especially enjoyed the idea of the boulder – "how would they have made the tunnels the right size for it without it getting stuck?"

He wanted to poke holes in the entire theory of the Ark of the Covenant, but managed to keep quiet after John elbowed him in the ribs.

Marion intrigued him. The whole scene of the bar fight amused him, especially when the symbol got imprinted onto Toht's hand. He had already predicted quite a fair bit of the storyline (the sexual tension between Indy and Marion was almost painful for him), but he was still curious.

In fact, Sherlock was riveted right up to the sex scene between Indiana and Marion, at which point he realized he was sat next to John and that they hadn't had sex in days and that he was, in fact, desperate to be close to John again, and the irritating part was that he knew that John knew. John grinned over at him knowingly, but that was all. They continued to watch the film right up until the last face melted without so much as a word.

On the way out Sherlock shifted awkwardly as he walked down the steps behind John, unable to stop staring at his behind. And John knew. As soon as they were outside they hailed a taxi cab, but still didn't say a word.

2 minutes into the drive, Sherlock awkwardly commented, "I enjoyed that."

"Good."

More silence. More tension.

"Perhaps we should see the second film sometime?"

"Of course! 'Temple Of Doom' is another classic."

"Sounds cliché."

"The woman in it is called Willie."

"Sounds stupid. What happened to Marion?"

"Oh, please, he's Indiana Jones. But she does come back in the fourth film."

"That's two more films away! Does Willie stay with him?"

"Nope. There's this other woman called Elke, but she's a Nazi."

"Thanks for spoiling the plot."

"You're welcome."

At the door to 221B John went on ahead, knowing the affect it was having on Sherlock. Sherlock bit his lip, but his eyes were fixed.

"John, I-"

"I know."

They climbed the stairs and walked into the living room. It was evening by now, and Sherlock started sweating when John bent over to click on the lamp. John smirked to himself.

"Cup of tea?"

"Uh, n-no thanks," Sherlock stammered. If anything he needed a cold shower, not a hot drink.

"God, it's hot in here," John cursed (falsely) a few moments later. He pulled his jumper off over his head, teasing Sherlock with a glimpse of his tight stomach for a split second before pulling his shirt back down. "Damn Mrs Hudson for having to turn the heating up all the time…"

"Yes," Sherlock 'agreed'. "Damn her…"

John fanned himself with a hand and panted a little. "Really, what is it with old women and needing the heating to be at 100˚C?"

Sherlock bit his tongue a little at the sight of John's. "I-I don't know…"

John suddenly turned, pushed Sherlock up against the wall and kissed him ruthlessly. Sherlock moaned gently as John's sweet tongue rubbed up against his, tangling up his words and meanings until he couldn't think. When John released him he just smiled. "Speechless, are we?" he asked seductively, running his fingertips over Sherlock's neck.

"I… I thought… No sex while we were dating…" Sherlock managed.

John licked his lip quickly. "It's the third date rule, Sherlock." His puzzled expression made John want to rip his clothes off right there and then. "Couples have sex on the third date."

"That seems awfully fast…"

"Well, you're awfully hot. So shut up."

John forced himself onto Sherlock's lips again and Sherlock received gratefully, hands already fumbling for John's buttons as John's hands worked under his shirt, clutching at any skin he could find as Sherlock's knees buckled.

"Bedroom?" John sighed in a break between frantic kisses.

"No time," Sherlock answered instantly, and grabbed John's waist and hoisted him onto the kitchen table, knocking mugs and teabags onto the floor without a care. He slipped John out of his shirt and kissed down his chest while John raked his nails down Sherlock's neck until he fell forward onto him, their chests pressing together as John nipped at Sherlock's lip.

John kicked off his shoes using the lip of the table and entwined his legs with Sherlock's, tugging him closer still as John's hands clutched at Sherlock's waist, hard. Sherlock panted again, and – not entirely by his own actions – pulled himself up a little so John could reach him. John knew this was a bit forward of Sherlock, and it just made John want to beat it out of him. He tugged at Sherlock's belt, unfastened his trousers, pushed them away, teased around the band of Sherlock's boxers until Sherlock urgently pressed into his hand.

He whispered to John, "Please. I… I'm begging you…"

There was something in Sherlock's desperation, his need, which made John feel just the same. He thrust his hand further and seized Sherlock hard, tugging slightly and groaning himself as Sherlock did. Sherlock pressed against him, unable to hold himself up as John's hand slid and gripped and he sighed and kissed at John's cheek.

"Sherlock," John panted, he himself tipping his head back slightly. The man on top of him was unaware of where his own hands were, but John knew damn well.

"John…"

Then they both gasped and gulped and yelled out and laughed and panted and their minds were filled with such sweet vacancy that they thought they would black out but they didn't, they just held onto each other and let go of themselves.

"Sherlock…"

"John…"

"Good?"

"Very good…"

Sherlock didn't have the energy to move, so just hugged John tightly and kissed him softly. John didn't mind – not one bit. He was drowsy and on cloud 9 and Sherlock was warm and comforting and his. Eventually they would have to break the moment, but for now there was nothing but each other.

After a while Sherlock spoke with his eyes and told John they should go to bed – in an actual bed rather than on the kitchen table. John silently agreed and gripped Sherlock's hand as they slumped towards the stairs, but then gave up and collapsed into the sofa, still tangled in one another.

Within seconds they were asleep.

In the morning neither of them wanted to move. So they didn't. They talked freely and openly and from the heart. Sherlock had learnt the meaning of sentimentally, of romance, of love, and he never wanted to give that up. If love was dangerous, he would risk his life for it. For John.

"So, where should we go tonight?" Sherlock asked, lazily stroking John's sandy hair.

"Maybe we could just stay in tonight," John suggested, raising his eyebrows.  
"I completely agree," Sherlock replied, smiling with understanding.

They just lay there, cuddling, for most of the day. There was a peace across 221B, and it seemed all of London, even all of England. Everything was just right that day. Sherlock still had plenty to learn and he welcomed this, as long as he would get to learn it from John.

But he did have one last question.

"John?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"How many dates have Lestrade and Mycroft been on?"

John knew what he really meant. "More than three, Sherlock."

"…Well, that's just disturbing."

John chuckled and snuggled into Sherlock, and Sherlock kissed his forehead lovingly as they looked forward to the rest of their lives together.

He'


End file.
